


White noise

by ArthurFlecksGirl



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurFlecksGirl/pseuds/ArthurFlecksGirl
Summary: This one was inspired by the scene when Arthur is talking to his therapist Dr Kane.Its written from his point of view, capturing his thoughts.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You
Kudos: 5





	White noise

It happens again.  
The laughter.  
It starts burning in my guts, befor it hits the throath, crawling its way up. I always try to cut it off when I feel it . My condition like my mother calls it. She told me that this is caused by brain injury or by neurological reasons. Thats it. I cant remember a time when she was visiting doctors to figure it out what it realy is. The only doctors she called were the one who put me into straight jackets. They never asked what the cause of my laughter was. To them I was just another crazy man. "The little, crazy man, the one who laughs". Thats what they called me. I wasnt even Arthur to them. Just another crazy mind who should be locked away.  
Being locked away wasnt as bad as most people think though. It allowed me to black out the rest of the world. Or should I saw to WHITE out? To bleach out. Yeah I like that. To bleach out the rest of the world. Cuz everyting is white in there. The hallways...the rooms...even my clothes. Not sure about the walls though. They seemed to change their color a lot. Sometimes the walls in Arkham look bright and shiney. So clean you can almost see your reflection in it. I like that, because we are not allowed to have mirrors in our room. You know, there is the possibility to break them and to cut your wrists with the broken glass. So no mirrors. As if I would consider to cut my wrists. Please. There are much better ways to go that that. I always knew which way I would prefer. But I won`t tell you. Not today.  
Other times the walls, the floors, everything there looked ugly. Dark yellow like...dirty. I usually felt miserable when it looked like that. I dont know if this had anything to do with the colors changing but.... man.. this dirty yellow.... it really brought me down a lot.  
But yeah, I really liked it when the walls looked neat. Especially when the light from the windows came in. So bright it looked like heaven waited outside. It wasnt heaven outside, of course. It was hell. Hell just pretended to be heaven. The way it always is. Hell was wearing a mask. Don`t we all wear masks from time to time?  
I`m not sure what this laughter is about. Sometimes I think its not even a condition. Some days it feels like there is something inside of me that just laughs at tragic situations. A dark humor trying to tell me "C`mon, comedy is subjective. REALIZE the comedy here. SEE it. Can`t you see that this is actually a big joke?" And I`m like "No, this isnt funny at all. I feel bad and all I want to do is cry to get this pain out of my chest." So I try to cut the laughter off, which always ends in me gasping for air, being short of breath. Just like it happens right now.   
Dr Kane is looking at me while I`m tring to breathe. She doesnt do or say anything. She knows this already. She just waits it out.  
So, where could be the comedy in here? Ummm...  
Being at a social workers office that never listens to you. Asking the same shit very week without ever taking notice of your response. Always taking notes but never taking NOTICE. Thats the big joke right here. I got it.   
As soon as I was aware of the comedy here, I am able to stop myself from laughing. One last gasp. Haha...hmmm....it`s over.  
Dr Kane is annoyed as hell. I can tell from her face. She doesnt care about the actual pain this is causing me. To her I am just this annoying, laughing patient. The crazy one. Right. Maybe I am crazy. Who knows? But what about the rest of the world? What about the other people out there on the streets, yelling at you for trying to make a lil kid laugh? Kids need some joy in their lifes. We all do. But I´m not even allowed to make them laugh. I felt bad for the little boy at the pharmacy a few days ago looking at me with such big, sad eyes. I felt like I was the reason he was sad, because he noticed how depressed I was. HE NOTICED. He knew I was sad, so he got sad,too. Sweet, little empath. Little kids are mostly empathic. Thats why I love them so much. My mum told me that empathy is the ability to FEEL for another person. Like sympathy but different.   
Dr Kane surely knows no empathy. I know she doesnt.  
"is it just me..." I ask her "Or is it getting crazier out there?"  
She nodds "It is certainly tense. People are upset, their stuggeling, looking for work. These are tough times".   
I quietly laugh to myself.  
Yeah sure....people are always struggeling but no one caes anyway, right? No one helps someone else who struggles. What about the dead man that died on teh sidewalk a few weeks ago? He was stuggeling,too before people stepped over his dead body. But no one cares about a drunk, homeless man dying on the sidewalk. Imagin your whole life ends on a sidewalk with people stepping over you.   
"How about you? Have you been keeping up with your jounal?"  
"Yes maam" I suck on my cigarette.  
"Did you bring it with you?"  
I cant help myself giving her a look. What a question is this? As if I would go anywhere without my journal. I come here for so long now and I never forgot my journal. And she is asking me if I have it with me. Also its pretty personal. I dont feel like handing it out to her every week, but I have to. Its part of this therapy and she doesnt really take a close look anyway.   
I`m blowing out the smoke.  
"Arthur....last time I ask you to bring your journal with you to these appointments. Can I see it?"  
My legs are starting to bounce and I try to stop them by pressing my hands against them. I had my journal with me last time. But I didnt felt like showing it to her. The latest pages were filled with pornographic pictures I found in magazines. And I just felt ashamed about it last week. I dont even know why I put them in there. I guess I wanted to find out if i am able to FEEL something, like sexual attraction. Because my medication won`t let me feel it sometimes.  
Calm your legs, Arthur. Calm your legs I tell myself as I grab the notebook.  
"I`ve been using it as a....as a journal. But also as a joke diary. " She takes the diary, giving me a look.  
" Funny thoughts or....observations. I think I told you that I`m persuming a career in stand up comedy".  
She goes to the pages quickly. No close look, no real reading like always. I wonder why she even wants to see it, if she doesnt read it. She sees the naked ladies with the blacked out faces of course. I blacked their faces out because I feel bad about trying to jerk off to someone who is an actual person who I dont know personally. I mean...these girls.... they have lifes, right? Its nothing personal, so I just black the faces out. Even when I draw them. The only face I want to see while I`m getting myself off is Sophies. The thing I have for Sophie is personal. But I dont keep her in my journal. Maybe I would if I had an actual photograph of her. I wouldnt black out her face, because I am madly in love with her.  
"No you didnt" Dr Kane replied, looking kinda irritated by the pages.  
"I think i did"  
Shes stopps at a random page "I just hope my death makes more sense than my life".  
CENTS. It says CENTS. She doesnt even get the joke. But thats nothing that surprises me.  
I smile to myself.  
Yeah well...who doesnt hope that their death makes more sense than their lifes? I mean come on. whats the point in most lifes anyway? I`ts all just a big, painful blurr and then you`re dead. So I guess i isnt a bad thing to hope that there must be something else. Maybe we all get the whole JOKE at the moment we die?   
"How does it feel to have to come here? Des it help to have someone to talk to?" her voice so tired. I bet she is tired of this job,too. Tired of life.   
Another stupid question. How does it feel to have to come here? How does she think it feels to talk to someone who keeps ignoring your answers? Somemone who doesnt even remember what you told her last time?  
I take a smoke, not looking her in the eyes "I think I felt better when I was locked up at the hospital".  
Oh yeah I did. Thats why I keep hiding in the fridge when I have a very bad day. My own secret whilte room. My womb. My chance to hide from all this bullshit. My coffin.  
I miss Arkham. Well....missing is the wrong word. But I appriciated it at some point.  
"And have you thought about why you were locked up?"  
Her question brings back the flashbacks of me being locked up on my room, banging my head against the door. Bang. Bang. No one cares. Bang bang. Its like a melody. Which is irnonic because I banged my head to STOP the melodies. Sometimes the music in my head gets too loud, so I cant even hear what is really goingon around me. And when this happens, the melodies tend to blurr into each other,too. So its not a song anyore, its just white noice. White noise in a white room. How poetic. Bang bang.  
"Who knooooows" I answer.  
Notes. More notes. Haha. Notes but no notice.  
I guess Penny called the ambulance because I was banging my head against the wall at home till it started to bleed real bad. The white noice was so loud I just wanted it to stop. But it didnt. And it didnt stopped at teh hospital eighter, so I kept on banging it against the wall. Its a knocking sound.  
Knock Knock  
Head against wall  
Knock knock  
Simple as it is. But I won`t tell Dr. Kane. She won`t listen anyway.   
"I was wondering if you could ask the dorcor to increase my medication?"  
She checks the papers "Arthur you`re on seven different medications. Surely they must be doing something".  
Yeah. Thas why I ask. They SHOULD do something right? Why do I feel so miserable then? Shouldnt they help me feeling better? Shouldt they help me sleep at night? Keeping me from hearing the white noise when the melodies get out of control? Shouldnt they help me to tell daydreams and reality apart?   
Welll...They dont. So I need more. Of differnt stuff. But she wouldnt help me with that. So I have to live with what they give me. I dont even know what would happen if I`d stop taking them. Would I become a different person? Would I lose my mind? Have I already lost it? Would I be able to actually CRY?  
"I just don`t wanna feel so bad anymore".  
Will there ever be a day I won`t feel so bad anymore?  
Will there ever be a time I will not get beaten up for trying to make people smile, walking up these stairs with burning pain in my fragile body every day?  
Oh, how I wish I could dance on these stairs instead.


End file.
